


Reward

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch gets what's coming to him.  Takes place post-"Body Worth Guarding."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reward

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains rough, but totally consensual, sex.

"Why'd you fuck her?" Starsky asks, mouth hot on his neck. " 'Cause she was there?"

Hutch writhes against him. Slick with Starsky's sweat, Starsky's spit. Not Starsky's come, not yet, but it will be. It will be.

"Why?" Starsky repeats, in a whisper that slides sideways into Hutch's ear like a length of roughened silk.

"Not gonna tell me?" His hands travel to Hutch's hips. "Want me to suck it outta ya?" He lowers his head, his panting breath stirring the curls at Hutch's groin.

Hutch presses up, hungry, aching, but silent.

Starsky's lips draw back from his teeth. "Whassamatter, boy? Your tongue don't work anymore? You wear it out on her?" He lunges up suddenly, grabs a handful of Hutch's hair with one hand, and slaps his face with the other.

Hutch gasps. His cheek stings. His eyes slip shut. Behind the lids, he feels them glazing over.

"Come on, tell me. Does Russian pussy taste as sweet as the all-American kind?"

Hutch doesn't answer. He feels Starsky's racing heart, Starsky's labored breath, Starsky's cock, tight and hot and ready, pressed to his. He bucks up, hard, because Hutch doesn't tease, he provokes. He challenges.

Starsky growls, deep in his throat. "Turn over," he says, but Hutch doesn't, not yet. "You lying son of a bitch, turn over!"

Hutch opens his eyes and stares at him for a long, long moment. Then he rolls onto his belly.

Starsky grabs him by the hips and hauls him to his knees. He shoves Hutch's thighs apart and settles between them. Hutch feels thumbs separating him, pulling him open.

"You don't get any lube," Starsky whispers. "Not this time. This is gonna be one rough ride, boy."

 _That's why_ , Hutch thinks. _That's why I fucked her_. He grins into the pillow.

It hurts perfectly. They haven't done it in a while, and Hutch knows he's tight, snug. He's a dry, hot hole for Starsky to stretch. That's what it feels like, like he's nothing more than his asshole, his entire being concentrated there. Even his cock, slapping hard against his belly, doesn't count. Starsky ignores it. His hands grip Hutch's hips. He grunts rhythmically with each plunge. Hutch knows it's hurting him, too. It must be rubbing him raw.

"Sweet," Starsky gasps, his breath ruffling the hair above Hutch's ear, making him shiver. "So sweet…."

Hutch doesn't want to hear that. He grits his teeth and shoves backward, squeezing, clamping down. Starsky gives a wordless shout and his next thrust almost pushes Hutch through the mattress. He groans, and tries to struggle back up for more. Starsky helps, winding both arms tightly around Hutch's chest and yanking him upward until he can brace his hands on the headboard. He grips it, white-knuckled, and arches his back, eyes closed, tendons straining in his neck, and Starsky's long thrusts become short, fast, frantic jabs, and the pain is a hot, white blur that cuts through Hutch's brain. He cries out from it, from the pain and the knowledge that it can't last, it can't go on, not long enough, no matter how hard Starsky tries.

He frees a hand, desperately, and grabs his dick. He can feel Starsky's groan against his back, and he knows Starsky's watching him, watching over his shoulder as he jerks it. He jerks, and Starsky shoves, again and again, in counterpoint, and Starsky's teeth sink hard into Hutch's neck, and Hutch comes with a yell, and his clenching muscles trap Starsky's cock inside, and Starsky shouts and gives another frantic thrust, and his arms tighten so hard around Hutch's ribs he can't breathe. The air loss combined with the sudden gush of semen from his body sends a wave of dizziness through him. Spots dance before his eyes, and he sags, semi-conscious, in Starsky's trembling arms, surrendering helplessly to Starsky's final strokes, hearing his partner's hoarse groan of completion, feeling the shudders peak and die away.

Hutch can't think or speak. He feels Starsky lower him gently to the mattress, and he just lies there on his belly, eyes closed, and breathes. Dimly, he hears Starsky collapse next to him with a long, exhausted sigh.

He wants to sleep. At this moment, everything's perfect, and God, he wants to sleep.

A hand settles gently on his ass. "Hey," Starsky whispers. "We gotta clean up."

Hutch shakes his head without opening his eyes.

He hears Starsky sigh, and then the bed shifts and Starsky's footsteps recede in the direction of the bathroom. He wonders vaguely how his partner's legs can still function.

He's almost unconscious when Starsky returns. Hutch drags his eyes open briefly and sees Starsky wiping the headboard with a towel. He finishes, tosses the towel aside, and catches Hutch's eye.

"Sprayed all over it," he says. " _My_ bed. Slob."

Hutch smiles.

Starsky glances upward. "Probably hit the mirror, too. You're like Yellowstone Park, you know that?"

Hutch thinks about that for a while, slowly. "Geysers," he says, at last.

Starsky stretches out comfortably beside him. "Old Unfaithful," he says. He turns on his side and looks into Hutch's eyes.

Hutch looks back. He sees no condemnation there, only acceptance. The jealous lover he craves, the lover who wants all of him and gives all of himself in return, is gone now. He was only an act anyway, a kindness, a gift from Starsky. Sometimes, Hutch needs so badly to pretend.

Starsky reaches and turns the bedside lamp off, then holds out his arms to Hutch in silent invitation.

Hutch slides into his partner's embrace with a sigh, and rests his head against Starsky's shoulder. The slow, strong rhythm of Starsky's heart follows him down into dreams.


End file.
